Graham's Prodigy
by llBoonell
Summary: Joshua Graham, the Burned Man, takes an apprentice of sorts, and is turning him into a Messiah for the Wastes. The Courier will join him on his quest. F!Courier Rated M just in case: The Mojave is fairly gritty, I don't know what might happen. [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

**(Regretfully, I do not own Fallout, the Mojave Desert, Zion national Park, America, nuclear weapons, or any of the characters within, except maybe my Prodigy.)**

'The boy shoots well.' thought Joshua Graham as his new prodigy, Jonathan, twirled the .45 handgun and let go the remaining two rounds in the magazine into the makeshift target board, constructed of some scavenged plywood. The boy was once a citizen of the NCR, the New California Republic, but his merchant family had moved to New Canaan a short while before the White Legs attacked. Graham was now teaching him to fight in this cave in Zion National Park, Utah.

Joshua Graham, the mysterious Burned Man of Legion folklore, was keeping the boy as a 'secret weapon' of sorts. All the boy knew of the world was weapons handling, survivalism, and the love of God. Graham had brainwashed the child, effectively. Call it what you like, Graham was creating a messiah. This boy would fight on when Graham died, and would travel the wastes, purifying the world, driving out all those that would defile the Good Lord's Earth.

Graham studied the boy's form as he ejected the empty magazine from his firearm and expertly slid a new one in place, racking the slide and dropping to a crouch before his invisible 'opponents' could line up a shot on him. The boy was a natural, and appeared to be in tune with the world around him in ways Graham could not even fathom. He _knew_. He _knew_ what would happen, mere seconds before it did. He had saved Graham's life several times already due to his unnatural gift. Surely, the boy is watched over by the Lord, he thought.

The boy leaped from his crouch onto a rock outcropping, and then leaped again, his lean, powerful legs propelling him through the air, all the while corkscrewing his body to avoid imaginary bullets and firing his handgun at imaginary foes. Bullets perforated the last target board, and the boy landed heavily with an empty magazine and a pounding head. He got to his feet and looked questioningly at Graham.

The Burned Man looked at him, and then nodded. The boy smiled and left the cave, making his way back to the nest of sorts that he built out of all his worldly possessions. They didn't amount to much. Graham studied him as he sat atop his olive-drab sleeping bag marked 'US ARMY' and began to disassemble his .45, which was in fact a gift from another New Canaanite several months ago, just before the White Legs attack. It had nickel plating, something not normally seen on Canaanite weapons. The boy cherished it like life itself.

He had a talisman of sorts. It took the form of a set of bullet casings. They were all attached to a string, and he wore it around his left ear, the spent cartridges hanging down to his neck. He said that once the Wastes were pure, he would set it down, but no sooner. He also had a photograph. It was one taken of a girl from New Canaan. It was a girl that he felt quite strongly for, and perhaps may have one day married, had it not been for the White Legs. The tribe leader, Salt-Upon-Wounds, had killed her with the enormous punch gun he wore on his right fist.

Graham knew that his prodigy would be the one to kill Salt-Upon-Wounds, and slaughter the entire White Legs tribe. However, he could not do it alone. He would need help, and The Burned Man would not be around forever. He needed a companion, someone to fight by his side. A tribal would not do, and there were few enough Canaanites left, only Graham himself and Daniel, who was peaceful and wished his adopted tribe, the Sorrows, to remain so as well. The Sorrows, the Canaanites, and Graham's adopted tribe; the Dead Horses, were all out of the picture.

It must be a Gentile, thought The Burned Man.

* * *

Graham had discovered one such Gentile, or rather, she had discovered him. She was part of a caravan that had been on its way to New Canaan, unaware of its destruction. The caravan was ambushed by the White Legs, and she was the only survivor. Dressed in leathers like most Wastelanders, she managed to retain an air of nobility, despite the…_tightness_ of her attire.

She said her name was Six.

He knew not why she took a number as her name, but it had a somewhat heroic ring to it. She was fairly charismatic; perhaps the boy would take a liking to her.

…She looked about his age.

* * *

It was time for a gathering of Dead Horses. One of the younger scouts had miraculously managed to kill a Yao Guai that had ambushed him, and the tribal chieftain, Skeletal-Foal, had decreed that a feast was to be had in celebration. The accomplished young scout, a friend of Jonathan's named Chalk-Dust, would receive a victory tattoo and honors for his war club. The tribe was singing and Chalk-Dust was dancing around the bonfire in the center of the camp at present. He turned his head and motioned with his club for Jonathan, who was laughing and clapping along, to join him.

"Little Shaman! Join me!" he cried. Jonathan shook his head and laughed, but the tribe had taken up the cry and the younger ones were now dragging the boy towards the fire, and Chalk-Dust. Graham, standing watch by the canyon entrance, had almost forgotten that the older members of the tribe liked to call him Little Shaman. Jonathan gave up the struggle and got to his feet, striding over to Chalk-Dust, and then kicking up his heels.

Chalk-Dust and Jonathan began something of a tribal dance, crossed with an Old-World jig that the boy had learned off an old holotape. The two danced and laughed, and the tribe clapped and smiled with glee at the performance. Graham watched the Gentile, Six, beaming at Jonathan and clapping her hands with the rest of the tribe. She appeared highly amused by his antics.

**(Well, if you liked that, I may have more, but if it's awful, let me know. Read and review, cheers much, Boone out.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**(Regretfully, I do not own Fallout, the Mojave Desert, Zion national Park, America, nuclear weapons, or any of the characters within, except maybe my Prodigy.)**

The Dead Horse camp was silent. Not even the wildlife could be heard, for it had all fled. Graham, concealed within a mesquite bush, watched the White Legs war band stalk their way through the shallows of the Virgin River, towards the camp. In the lead was a Storm-Drummer. His namesake was his weapon, an old .45 submachine gun that was salvaged from a Pre-War armoury. In two surprisingly organised columns behind him were Pain-Makers with an assortment of crude melee devices. Bringing up the rear was a pair of Light-Bringers holding caravan shotguns, the weapons looking beat-up, next to useless. Odds were the guns would explode in the tribal's hands when they were fired.

Jonathan was crouched in the water behind a rock formation. He exchanged a glance with Six, hiding around the corner of the cliff face. She nodded and racked the slide on her 9mm handgun, the noise echoing through the canyon. The White Legs stopped and the gunners trained their weapons on the source of the noise. Then, they turned back to the entrance and trained their weapons there, for they heard someone tramping noisily up the river behind them, heavy boots crunching through the gravel on the riverbed. Just as this new arrival rounded the corner, Graham, Six, and Jonathan struck.

Graham burst out of the mesquite bush, Jonathan leapt up to the top of the rock formation, and Six rounded the corner, each with their respective weapons. The boy's .45 was the first to fire, punching through the crude faceplate of the Storm-Drummer. Graham and Six fired at the same time, each taking down a Light-Bringer with their 9mm and silver officer's issue .45, and the Pain-Makers snapped into action. Too late however.

The man at the end of the canyon let rip with his .45 submachine gun and mowed the remaining White Legs down with precision shots to their heads and hearts. When the tribals were all still, the man slung his weapon over his shoulder once more and lifted the brim of his cattleman's hat, revealing the face of Daniel, Graham's fellow Canaanite.

"God's wounds! I come here to see how our Courier is doing and I find this!" Daniel called, exasperated, but jovial nonetheless, as if the shootout were nothing more than a morning chore.

* * *

"Well, I've made notes of all the local White Legs encampments, and I've cleared the path of raiders, critters, and traps. Jon got all the gear for you guys, right?" Six enquired as she rattled off the list that Daniel had given her to the Canaanites. She had been running errands with Jonathan around Zion Canyon for the past few days, preparing for the evacuation of the Sorrows from Zion.

"I sure did." Jonathan replied, opening a duffle bag on the table. "Compass, supplies, first aid, and I found a map in an old cave, looks like it matches Grand Staircase. I also found a sweet rifle on the way back. I'll, uh, tell you guys more when the Sorrows aren't around." He said, glancing about the camp nervously.

"Why are you looking spooked?" Joshua Graham asked the boy.

"Uh, I found it on a set of bones atop Red Gate. With it, I found a set of Desert Ranger gear, and a holotape containing something very saddening."

"Alright, we'll talk later." Daniel replied. "For now, Six, you and Joshua can go and spread the word that we are evacuating Zion tomorrow night. Get Follows-Chalk and Waking Cloud to help you. Make sure Follows has his Dead Horse team ready to cover the bridges on the way to Pine Creek tunnel."

"Will do!" was the chorus he was met with. Jonathan spoke up.

"What about me?"

"_You_ can tell me your ghost story." He said, motioning towards his tent.

* * *

"Well," Jonathan began, "There was a brand new Cazador nest blocking my usual route back, and I had to take an even bigger detour because of a group of Yao Guai, so I ended up going miles around to Red Gate. I decided I wanted a rest, so I climbed up to the top, where I reckoned I'd be safe from the wildlife and any White Legs nearby."

"And that's where you found the rifle."

"Yep. I was just laying out my bedroll for a quick nap when I nudged something with my leg. Turns out, that was the dead man's foot. I panicked and nearly shot the corpse. Well, not corpse. More like skeleton. He'd been long dead, and his bones were hardened to the point where they stood up to my knife. His clothes had long rotted away, but his duffle bag, the one I put the supplies in, was intact."

"What was inside?"

"First thing I found was the rifle." Jonathan said as he withdrew the weapon from the duffle bag. "Mismatched wooden furniture, iron sights bent out of shape, but otherwise intact. The action worked perfectly, as I discovered when I had to put down a coyote on the way home. 12.7mm bullets, I found three 10-round mags' worth."

"Impressive."

"That's what I thought. Next thing I found was a set of US Army Desert Ranger armour. It was in pretty bad shape, but I've got one of the craftsmen fixing it for me. The helmet though, I kept hidden. I thought it might spook them."

"Why would it do that?"

"Because it had etchings on it, made by a combat knife, which I found by the way. There was deployment dates from before the Great War, from the previous owner I would assume. Yeah, uh, deployment dates in China, both Shanghai and Nanjing. But uh, on the front, it says 'Forgive me Mama' in big letters."

"…oh dear."

"I then found the holotape. I had a listen, and it tells the story of what I believe is, get this, The Father in the Caves. The Sorrows' god is nothing more than a long dead US soldier-turned-survivalist. A good man, but…just a man."

"…no. That can't be!" Daniel gasped, recoiling from the boy and his horrible tale.

"It's true." Jonathan said.

"The Sorrows must _never_ know." Daniel said, walking shakily from his tent, the boy in tow.

"My lips are sealed."

The two came up on Graham and Six. They were loading and twirling their guns, respectively.

"Follows-Chalk is getting his party ready, while the remainder of the tribe are getting ready to return to Dead Horse Point. Most of the Sorrows' gear is packed already. When dusk arrives, we leave." Joshua said.

"Hey Jon, I got your armour off of the craftsmen. All tailored to you. It's in pretty good condition, considering its age." Six said, while motioning to the folded suit of armour she carried under her arm. She handed it to Jonathan.

"Thanks. I'm gonna suit up. See you guys at the canyon mouth at dusk."

* * *

Six tightened the straps holding the metal plates to her leathers.

Graham adjusted the bandages around his gun arm.

Daniel loaded his singular 50-round drum onto his submachine gun.

All three turned to face the boy as he stepped into the growing moonlight. His armour fitted perfectly, as did the boots. The trench coat he wore over it, a little less so, hanging just barely above the ground. By his side was his nickel-plated .45; in his arms was his new 12.7mm rifle. Six took in the glowing eyes on his helmet, and the words etched above his eyeline, and shivered.

This was the supposed messiah.

**(Enjoy, kids. This started out as a oneshot, but it looks like I might take it a little further. I'll be alternating between this piece and my Minecraft piece, Someone's Gotta Do the Dirty Work, so maybe a chapter or two for each within the next two weeks. Read and review like always! Boone out. )**


	3. Chapter 3

An hour and a half later, several White Legs teams had been eliminated, and several groups of Sorrows assisted and liberated. At present, Graham, Six, and Jonathan were striding along the road to the Pine Creek Tunnel, the first of the sun's rays appearing over the canyon tops. The canyon itself, however, would be in darkness for at least another half an hour.

Graham, in the lead, motioned for the other two to stop, and then motioned for them to continue slowly. They rounded a bend in the road, and then froze. Less than a hundred metres away lay the entrance to the tunnel and before it stood Daniel, weapon drawn, facing a White Leg with a Bighorner skull helmet and a decorated pneumatic gauntlet on his right fist.

This, thought Six, must be the one they call Salt-Upon-Wounds.

"Ah, finally! Salt-Upon-Wounds, your time is up!" Daniel cried, lowering his weapon. Salt-Upon-Wounds turned and started at the sight of the man in bandages.

"Joshua Graham! You have killed many of mine tribe! I will shatter your skull and dance on your gr-"

He was cut off by a gunshot. His helmet shattered, and he snarled, shielding his eyes.

Jonathan sprinted towards him. He had his head and .45 raised and the slide of the gun pounded back and forth, loosing bullet after bullet at the tribal, but failing to breach his armour. His pistol out of rounds, he beared down upon Salt-Upon-Wounds, who raised his gauntlet and charged at the boy. Jonathan flipped his .45 in his hand, catching it by the barrel, and attempted to pistol-whip the tribal leader. Salt-Upon-Wounds caught the boy's treasured pistol in his gauntlet and crushed it. Fragments of firearm clattered to the bitumen as Salt-Upon-Wounds opened his fist, then closed it again and attempted a swing at the boy, who ducked, then rose and head-butted his opponent.

His helmet shattered by bullets, Salt-Upon-Wounds was defenceless against the attack, and he fell back, stunned. He shook his head and made to charge Jonathan once more, but he was again stopped, this time by a bullet of different caliber.

Six's 9mm round punctured the crown of the tribal's skull, felling the mighty warrior. He hit the ground, and Jonathan moved towards him. He stood triumphantly over the body, and then spat on it.

* * *

Daniel and Graham shook hands with Six, Daniel bending to kiss her hand. He did so, and she blushed. She wasn't used to meeting gentlemen in the Wastes.

The decision had been made as the last of the Sorrows evacuated Zion. Jonathan was to go out into the Wasteland and make a name for himself, as the Messiah of the Wastes. He would accompany Six, be her companion and her guard. She would do the same for the boy. Graham made his way over to the boy as he slung his rifle over his shoulder.

"Jonathan. I've decided to accompany Daniel and the Sorrows into the Grand Staircase. I'll visit the Dead Horses from time to time, but I will reside with Daniel. He and I are the last of the Canaanites, and I believe we should stick together."

"If that's what you think is right. If I see any Legionaries…I'll tell 'em you said _ave_."

"Hah! Well, farewell, my boy. And see to it that this Courier is kept safe. I expect great things from the both of you." Graham said. "I want to hear stories of your exploits from all over Nevada! Nevada, California…hell, see the world."

"Heh, don't worry." Jonathan said, before locking Graham in an embrace. The man gasped, the pressure aggravating his burns, before biting his lip and returning the hug. The boy was worth every iota of pain. When they released each other, Graham would have had a tear in his eye, but his tear ducts were long dried-up. The two parties, Daniel and Graham the Canaanites and Jonathan and Six the wanderers then turned and went their separate ways.

"He will be great." Said Graham.

"…they both will." Said Daniel.

* * *

"Well, Six, where to?" Jonathan asked after an uneasily silent journey to the Southern Passage.

"Well, first we gotta make our way back to the Mojave. Then, I was kinda gonna let you take the reins for a while."

"Well, I don't know where to start. The Mojave is a big place, from what I've been told. Lot of sinners and blasphemers to redeem or _purify_. I thought if I followed your lead I might actually find some direction."

"Alright. Well, there's a particularly nasty guy I know called Benny." Six said with a hint of sly satisfaction.

"Benny. I see. And what is his sin?" Jonathan asked.

"He shot me in the head." Six said plainly.

"…ouch."

* * *

The next few days passed quickly, with Six filling in Jonathan on the details of her shooting in Goodsprings, the package she lost, the man who killed her for it, and what she had done on the way to finding him and taking the package back.

"Well, we're here. Feast your eyes on the Mojave, Jon." Six announced, spreading her arms wide as the two travellers exited the Northern Passage. From the outcropping before it, they could see much of the surrounding area. Jonathan saw the towering buildings of New Vegas, the squalor that surrounded it in the form of Freeside, Westside, and North Vegas. He could spy over the tops of the buildings McCarran Airport, and to the east he could see the highway leading to what he believed was an Air Force base.

"Wow…most of my life has been limited by canyon walls…there's so much…_space_." Jonathan said, breathless.

"Wait 'til we get on the roads to the south of Vegas, then you'll see open space. But for now, we're going to the Strip. From the payment I salvaged from the Happy Trails Caravan, I can afford entry to the strip." Six said triumphantly, jangling a huge bag of bottle caps in front of her.

"Right, well, I'll probably have to wait outside, I guess. Maybe help some of the troubled locals of this…Freeside." Jonathan said, turning out his pockets and pack, revealing a complete lack of Wasteland currency.

"Ah…shit. I was hopin' you might have some, shoulda guessed it. Hmmm…tell you what, I'll chat up some of the high-ups in the Strip, see if I can't get you in on a discount."

"You'd do that? Wow, thanks. You must have a lot of influence."

"Not _that_ much, but we'll see."

**(Well, enjoy. I'll try and put out some more soon. Sorry I've been so hit-and-miss with these chapters, but I get really bad writers block for like a week at a time, then get a blinding flash of inspiration at a time when I really can't write. It's a pain, but I'll try for you guys. Review if you please, it makes me look good! Boone, out.)**


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